


Smell of Coffee

by skitockså (Okumen)



Category: Ginga Eiyuu Densetsu | Legend of the Galactic Heroes
Genre: (is embarrassing to write but at least its horny), (or at leaest I suppose that it kinda is), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, Mentions of past child abuse, self-depriciation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:14:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28891209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Okumen/pseuds/skitocks%C3%A5
Summary: Arms wrap around Reuenthal, lazy hands finding purchase against the fabric of his shirt. There is a deep grumble, heavy with sleep, pressed into his neck as Attenborough acknowledges the "Good morning".
Relationships: Dusty Attenborough/Oskar von Reuenthal
Kudos: 3





	Smell of Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> twitter fic again so again no beta: https://twitter.com/tofinut/status/1352129925134888966
> 
> A sequel/prequel/sidewhatever called _Sunbathed_ can be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28893963
> 
> More of that embarrassing stuff bc I try writing fluff. It's not as bad when it's got some horny in it. I love attenthal besides.

Arms wrap around Reuenthal, lazy hands finding purchase against the fabric of his shirt. There is a deep grumble, heavy with sleep, pressed into his neck as Attenborough acknowledges the "Good morning".

Reuenthal stands still, letting himself enjoy the rumbling sound pressed against his skin and the warm, solid body pressed against his for a while.

It's early in the morning, and the light filtering in through the gaps of the blinds is the electric light of street lamps. The smell of coffee is heavy in the air, as the sound of the last drops falling into the pot mixes with the coffee machines whirring and their breathing. The coffee machine clicks, indicating it's done. Reuenthal pours from the pot to the mugs, one a larger, oversized kind, the other reglar sized. He watches the coffee steam and basks quietly in the scrapes of stubble and lips brushing his skin.

"You don't have to go," he suggests, but he's not serious. He knows Attenborough would have had it easier had he left last night instead, and Reuenthal shouldn't be selfish. But he didn't like to spend his nights alone. Even less so since finding strong, safe arms to rest in. It's too selfish, more than he deserves--

"Nngh, 's w'rk," Attenborough mutters against Reuenthals skin. "'n'n'mport'n'v'nt." Reuenthal feels it's a wonder he can actually understand what Attenborough says, when the man forgets that vowels exists. He reaches up to ruffle a hand through Attenboroughs already messy hair. "Yeah..." He doesn't have any right to complain, anyway. Attenboroughs paper has every right to send him to some far-off country to report on the most recent Election Of The Century, while Reuenthal should consider himself lucky that he's eve---

The arms around him squeeze a little tighter, pulling Reuenthal from his thoughts. "'ssk'r," Attenborough grumbles. Reuenthal likes when he says his name like that, even if there are syllables missing and messed up.

"Ah. Right, the coffee should be fine now." He almost forgot. He presses the larger cup to Attenboroughs knuckles. For a few seconds, he feels hands tightens against his stomach, and hears, feels a heavy sigh against his skin, before Attenborough accepts the oversized "Get Woke Quick" cup (as Attenborough calls it) and rearranges his grip to leave only one of his arms wrapped around Reuenthal. He props his chin on Reuenthals shoulder, and when he slips from the cup to get used to the heat on his tongue, Reuenthal as he always does worries a bit about Attenborough spilling the contents. It's only happened once, and it's been a long time since. Reuenthal picks up his own cup, and rubs a finger against the worn-out cartoon cat on its porcelain surface.

They stand in silence by the kitchen counter, drinking their coffee and listening to the sounds of early, early morning.

Damp lips press to the side of Reuenthals neck, and he hums quietly in content at the slow, warm touch. "Oskar," Attenborough mumbles against his skin, awake enough for proper words, now. "It's alright to be selfish, y'know." Selectively proper words. They brush lips against his skin.

"I don't know what you mean," Oskar says. He tries not to think about it, but he was raised to feel guilt over wanting even the simplest of things. Like the tender kisses he is given right now, the reassuring words that he's got worth caressing his skin, the hand stroking his belly. Attenborough knows about all that. Reuenthal really can't keep his mouth shut when he's drunk and upset. 

"I have to go for a few days."

That hand stroking his belly has inched up under Reuenthals shirt, pressing gentle, calloused touches into his bare skin.

"But I will call you when I get to the air port, and message you to let you know when I've landed."

The kisses on his skin are impossibly soft.

"I'll call you when you need me to, even if the need isn't anything more than that you want me to, because your wants are my needs. I'll call you to talk about our days in the evenings, and I'll tell you how much I miss you, because I know that I will miss you terribly much."

Attenboroughs hand brushes lower, and Reuenthal draws in a deep, slow breath as Attenborough palms at his cock through his trousers. He tips his head back against Attenboroughs shoulder, and he can feel fluffy birds-nest hair tickle his cheek.

"And when I pack up my stuff at the hotel, I will be itching to call you, but I'll hold off until I get to the air port because I know neither of us wants to risk I miss the plane."

Reuenthal does his best to listen, as he enjoys the hand stroking him through the friction of his trousers. The way that the promises sinks into his skin with each slow, tender touch. He has to put his cup down, and use the counter for support as he shivers.

"But once I'm checked in, I'll call, because I won't be able to wait any longer. And I'll tell you, that I'll be home soon. Just wait for me for a few more hours."

Reuenthal whimpers, both at the touches that draws him nearer and nearer his climax, and at the absolute sincerity in the words slipping into his ear.

"We'll talk until the very last minute, about inconsequential things, about silly things. We'll laugh a little, and long. I'll want to see you as soon as is humanly possible."

His body shivering, Reuenthal feels that he's so close. Attenboroughs touch is relentlessly slow and tender.

"When I land, I'll be in a hurry to call you again. You'll let me know where you are, and I'll head there with no time to spare."

Reuenthal cal feel the warmth of Attenboroughs coffee cup against his shoulder. The warmth of his chest against his back. The warmth of his palm on his dick, sleeping through his trousers. Warming his whole body. He can feel Attenboroughs hard-on against his behind.

"When I see you, finally, _finally_ , I'll pull you close, and I won't know if my kiss will be searing or gentle when I kiss you, but I know it will be filled with days of longing, want, and love, pouring out in that instant when _finally_ I can hold you close again, hear your voice unfiltered, feel your touch."

Reuenthal feels how he tips over the edge, overwhelmed by the warmth in the words that promise him more love than he knows what to do with.

"Dus- ty-..!"

He moans as he orgasm, and he catches Attenboroughs hair with one hand to pull him up to catch his lips in a kiss. He shivers as he's still being stroked, until the last of his orgasm ebbs out, and he slumps against Attenborough. Attenborough keeks kissing him, until they both need to breathe. Reuenthal feels light-headed.

"Blasted scoundrel," he gasps, once he manages to somewhat control his breathing. "Don't know why I put up with you."

But he does. _Oh,_ how he does know.

Attenborough presses a slow smile to Reuenthals cheek. "Hmm. Well, whatever the reason may be, I'm glad that you do." He kisses Reuenthal on the lips again. Nestles his chin against his shoulder. "You know I'd rather stay with you. Because I'm selfish, and I want you to be selfish." He's back to gently caressing Reuenthals stomach. "But I know that when I see you again, the absence won't matter. All that'll matter is that I get to see you again. Because I'm selfish."

Reuenthal looks at his coffee cup, left forgotten on the kitchen counter. The steam on the surface had dissipated, as the liquid cooled. "I'm selfish too. I shouldn't be. It's dangerous for me to be selfish." He's too ambitious, for all the guilt and feelings of inferiority beaten into him. "But, I want you to return as soon as you can."

Attenborough hums, a sweet, melody-free tune against Reuenthals skin. "I'll do my best, my dear."

Reuenthal knows he's blushing. Affection is such a strange, unfamiliar thing to him, still.

/

Attenborough packed the day before, and he only has to pull on proper clothes, coat, and shoes. The knit-cap on his head sits askew, not doing a particularily good job at concealing what a mess it is.

He's past thirty, and still manages to look cute, in a floppy, clumsy sort of way.

Reuenthal shouldn't adore him, but also shouldn't feel guilty for adoring him. There is nothing wrong with adoring him, and he knows that. And Attenborough adores him in return.

The lingering kiss is far too short, and Reuenthal wants to pull him in for another. He doesn't, though. Instead, he sees his lover off at the door, then wanders off to the window to pull the blinds, so he can at least have a last look at him as he leaves.

He sees him appear under the streetlight. His phone rings.

"Hey," he hears Attenboroughs voice in his ear, a little tinny through the connection. Reuenthal arches an eyebrow as he peers down at the man on the street. Attenborough is looking up, and he waves. Reuenthal can see the grin on his face. "You wanna talk for a bit? Or would you rather go back to bed?"

"I think," Reuenthal leans against the window frame. "You should get moving. Don't want to miss the bus now, do you?" He sees Attenborough wave again, then scurry off with his phone still pressed to his ear. "But, other than that, I think I might like talking a little longer.

He would have been able to see the fond laugh in Attenboroughs posture, even if he hadn't been able to hear it.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
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> 
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